


what's inside your imagination (is as real as anything else)

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Flirting, Halloween, M/M, Salem, Witch!harry, harry's a witch who likes to pretend to be a human pretending to be a witch, it's all very silly and cute, louis's a minimal effort ghost, somehow liam never makes it into my fics, sorry liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: “Hey!” Niall shouts suddenly, scaring Harry nearly out of his hat. “We like your costume!”The ghost turns to glance at Niall, producing a hand from under the sheet and giving him a thumbs up. Harry can’t help but laugh a little more, the casual gesture adding to the entire vibe of the sunglasses-wearing ghost.The ghost looks at them for a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the crowd again, and Harry sighs. “I love Halloween,” he says thoughtfully.Or, Harry's a witch who likes to pretend he's a human pretending he's a witch, and Louis's the human in a not-so-clever costume that keeps catching his eye.





	what's inside your imagination (is as real as anything else)

**Author's Note:**

> \--DO NOT REPOST--
> 
> i clearly know nothing about witches or witchcraft my literal only personal experience with anything in this fic is Salem that place is rad
> 
> title is from Nightlight Girl by Turnover.

Harry loves halloween. Sure, it feels a little bit like appropriation when he sees humans going around in pointy hats and dark robes with broom sticks in hand, but he doesn’t think he’s justified in being annoyed by it when he joins in so enthusiastically. He fucking loves dressing up as a caricature of himself and spending the night pretending to be human.

Well, he does that last bit most of the time, anyway. Witches aren’t exactly a dime a dozen anymore, especially in Salem, and the ones that are still here aren’t very vocal about it. Some of them are brave enough to own the authentic witch shops scattered throughout town, but most of those are owned by regular humans, anyway, who think that witchcraft is something you can learn and not something inherit. Harry’s careful to only shop at the stores owned by real witches, just so he can make sure that his crystals, herbs and candles are genuine and up to his standard. He’s had far too many potions and rituals go to shit thanks to cheap and artificial ingredients; he’s learned his lesson.

That being said, he does find it quite enchanting that humans are so fascinated by witches, especially since, as far as they know, witches are as real as unicorns. Unicorns are real as well, obviously, and Harry’s got more than a few mermaid friends that hang out in Juniper Cove, but to humans, they’re all just fairytale creatures, and that’s more than okay with them.

As far as witches go, Harry doesn’t think he’s terribly stereotypical, but he’s got his well-loved tropes just like everyone else. He doesn’t wear the hat very often, and he doesn’t have any protruding warts on his face, but he does keep an alarming amount of crystals and herbs in his house, and he does have two entire bookshelves of spell books and voodoo dictionaries, and he does keep a cauldron among his everyday cookery. 

On Halloween, though, Harry loves nothing more than to put on his most obnoxious velvet robe and the tallest, pointiest hat he can find and spend the night roaming through the town, seeing the sights and collecting candy from strangers. He likes to carry a little bit of magic in his pockets just to keep things exciting, but other than that, he’s just like any other human enjoying the festivities. 

He’s just putting the finishing touches on his outfit when Niall comes knocking on his door, so he slips his little baggy of magic into his pocket and peeks his head around the door jamb to peek out of his bedroom.

“Come in!” he calls, voice echoing down the hallway to the front door. He ducks back into his bedroom as Niall lets himself in, whistling out the window for Raisin to come inside. Usually he lets Raisin have free roam whenever she wants, but people can be cruel on Halloween night, especially to a stray raven lurking around in a place like Salem.

“Harry?” Niall calls, the door closing quietly behind him. “Where are you, you dumb witch?”

“In my bedroom!” Harry calls, rolling his eyes at Niall’s terrible joke. “I told you to stop calling me a dumb witch.”

“And I told you that there’s no point in having a witch for a best friend if I’m not allowed to call him a dumb witch every now and again,” Niall says, flopping down on Harry’s bed. “Seriously, you’re going as a witch again?”

“It’s fun!” Harry says, pouting over his shoulder at Niall. “Just try dressing up as a vampire one time, Niall, it’s so funny.”

“I’m a vampire every day of the year, on Halloween I just wanna be something stupid, like a space cowboy,” Niall says, gesturing at his outfit. He’s got on a typical cowboy outfit, except everything’s made of holographic material, and the handkerchief tied around his neck has got little spaceships and aliens on it. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“So is your hat,” Niall bites back. “Are you nearly ready?”

“I just want to get Raisin inside before we go,” Harry says, leaning back out the window. He whistles again, looking up at the trees, and finally he sees the flash of a black wing headed toward him. He moves out of the way and Raisin soars gracefully into the room, perching on Harry’s wrought iron headboard and watching Niall curiously.

“You’ve got to stay in tonight, Raisin,” Harry says, pulling the window shut and latching it. “It’s Halloween. I don’t want anyone throwing rocks at you again, remember our first Halloween here?”

Raisin croons quietly and side steps along the headboard, distancing herself from the window. 

“I left the mouse you caught this morning in the kitchen, and I’ll pick up some of those worms you like while I’m out,” he says, stroking a finger over Raisin’s head and down her back. She rustles her feathers happily, eyes drooping. “People aren’t the only ones who should get treats on Halloween,” he muses.

“Come on, Harry,” Niall says, pushing himself up off the bed and waiting by the door. “I didn’t take the train all the way from the city to stand around here and watch you talk to your bird.”

“Bite me, Niall,” Harry says, sticking his tongue out at him.

“In your dreams,” Niall laughs, turning on his heel and skipping down the hallway. “C’mon, I want to get to the carnival before it gets too crowded!”

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, checking his pockets to make sure he’s got his phone, wallet, and his little pouch of magic, and then following Niall out the front door.

It’s not a terribly long walk from Harry’s house to the carnival, but the streets are absolutely packed with people. It’s not even late yet, hardly even late afternoon, but Halloween is a big deal in Salem, and everywhere Harry looks, there’s people dressed up in costumes, some tacky, some intricate, and they’re all just wandering about. There’s a lot to do around here on Halloween, hundreds of street vendors and magicians and witch shops with open doors. There are ghost tours, witch tours, haunted houses, museums, anything and everything a person could want, and though Harry loves it here every day of the year, there’s something special about this particular day. Maybe it’s the way the leaves look, creating the most beautiful backdrop for all of the festivities. Everything is orange and yellow and red, scattered all along the streets and sidewalks and decorating the sky along all the treetops, and when the cool wind blows, the leaves dance like they’re charmed, like they’re as alive as everything around them.

Harry’s robe nearly brushes the ground as he walks, and the leaves that don’t get crunched under his boots try to stick to the velvet of his robe, making every step he takes sound like a rustling tree. The thought makes him happy, makes him feel like he’s just part of the landscape, one with nature. In a way, his magic does that for him automatically, but he likes to feel like he really belongs out here with the natural world, even if it’s just by the dead leaves clinging to his clothes.

The carnival is alive when they get there, with the sound of children’s happy screams and laughter filling the air. Niall heads straight for the food stands, because even being a vampire cannot quell his never ending thirst for sugar and fried food.

Harry hangs back, surveying the crowd, getting a look at everyone’s costumes. There are a fair few witches, he notes happily, as well as about a million pumpkins, princesses, and superheroes. It’s mostly children out at this hour of the day, eager to show off their costumes they’ve been waiting months to wear. Harry makes sure to compliment every child he makes eye contact with, tell them how lovely or spooky or cool they look, and the feeling their bright smiles leave in his chest is no less euphoric than pure magic.

His favorite costume of the afternoon, though, is by far the person loitering near the ferris wheel dressed as a ghost. It’s probably a teenager, or maybe just a small adult, with just a white sheet draped over their entire body. They’ve got sunglasses on, as well, and it makes Harry chuckle, watching the person for a few minutes while Niall gets his snacks.

They spend most of the afternoon at the carnival, and Harry keeps catching sight of the sunglasses ghost, which is the most amusing part of his day. Usually he’d be disappointed in such a minimal effort costume, but he can’t stop giggling at this one, endlessly amused by the way the person’s feet stick out from the bottom of the sheet, clad in white socks and plain black Vans.

“Something about that ghost costume just gets me in my giggle dick,” Harry says, when he spots the person again as he and Niall are headed for the rides. 

“First of all, I never want to hear the term giggle dick again,” Niall says. “Why don’t you go tell them you like their costume?”

Harry shrugs, glancing around furtively before leaning in to whisper in Niall’s ear. “What if it’s a _boy_?”

Niall gives him the most unimpressed look Harry’s ever received in his life, staring at Harry until Harry nudges him uncomfortably. “I suggested you compliment their outfit, not offer to suck their dick.”

“Hush, Niall!” Harry says, looking around. “There’s kids around!”

“You said ‘giggle dick’ literally ten seconds ago,” Niall argues.

“I thought you never wanted to hear that term again,” Harry says, smirking. 

“I hate you,” Niall sighs. “Hey!” he shouts suddenly, scaring Harry nearly out of his hat. “We like your costume!”

The ghost turns to glance at Niall, producing a hand from under the sheet and giving him a thumbs up. Harry can’t help but laugh a little more, the casual gesture adding to the entire vibe of the sunglasses-wearing ghost.

The ghost looks at them for a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the crowd again, and Harry sighs. “I love Halloween,” he says thoughtfully.

With that, Niall drags him back to their route to the rides, and thus goes the rest of their afternoon.

-

Harry keeps seeing the ghost around for the rest of the night, like everywhere Harry goes, the silly sheet ghost is there, too. Niall’s had a little too much to drink, and he’s hanging off of Harry like a fruit bat to a tree, but Harry’s doesn’t really mind, has been used to this since he and Niall were in college.

The ghost has lost their sunglasses, since it’s dark out now, but Harry recognizes them by the dirty Vans on their feet. He’s desperate to know if the ghost is actually following them, or if it’s just coincidence, but either way Harry’s enchanted, inexplicably so, by this faceless person.

It isn’t until much later in the night, when Harry’s had a few more drinks and found himself in a crowd around a couple of street performers, that he finally finds himself face to face with the sheet ghost. Someone taps him on his shoulder and he turns quickly, meeting two very, very blue eyes blinking up at him from behind two jagged holes in a white sheet.

“Hi,” the ghost says, voice slightly muffled by the sheet and slightly overpowered by the music. “I meant to tell you earlier that I like your costume, too. I’ve been seeing you around all day.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry says, hoping the evening disguises the blush that seems to have bloomed on his face. “My name’s Harry,” he says, feeling trapped by the stranger’s gaze, unable to break away. 

“Harry the witch,” the ghost muses. Harry can tell they’re smiling by the way their eyes crinkle up a little.

“What?” Harry says, taken aback, blood going cold. He doesn’t know how this person has already caught him out, wondering if his magic showing, or if they’re some kind of magical being in their own right.

“Your costume,” the ghost says. “You’re dressed as a witch, aren’t you? Or did you just do a terrible job trying to dress up as something else?”

“Oh,” Harry says, his smile easing its way back onto his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a witch.”

“Cool,” the ghost says, sticking their hand out from under their sheet and extending it to Harry. “My name’s Louis.”

“Louis the ghost,” Harry says, shaking his hand. “How’d you die?”

“I met this really pretty witch, and he lured me back into his lair and overdosed me on love potion,” Louis says. “He looked a bit like you, actually.”

Harry startles, realizing too late that he’s being flirted with. He blushes a little harder, turning to see if Niall’s watching, but Niall couldn’t be less coherent if he tried, at the moment.

“Well, it might’ve been me,” Harry says, turning back to Louis. “But I only bring the prettiest boys back to my lair. Maybe you should take that sheet off and let me see if you fit the bill?”

Louis laughs, and then the sheet rustles as Louis moves his arms to lift up the bottom over his head. He tucks the sheet around his shoulders, smiling up at Harry cheekily. He’s fucking beautiful, golden skin and bright blue eyes and his hair all flattened to his head from being under the sheet for so long, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Oh,” Harry says, the alcohol in his system making his game a little slow. “Oh, you are pretty.”

“Pretty enough to take back to your lair?” Louis teases, tugging the sheet around his shoulders a little tighter. “I don’t think I even need any love potion,” he says.

“Happy Halloween to me,” Harry says, smiling as Louis shuffles a little closer to him. 

“Hey, it’s the ghost,” Niall says suddenly, latching on to Harry’s arm and peering around him at Louis. “Shit, Haz, you were right, he is a boy. And a cute one, at that.”

“Not now, Niall,” Harry says, turning to glare at him. Louis just laughs, cheeks pinking a little more. “I was supposed to get him back on the train to Boston tonight, but at this rate I think he’ll be sleeping on my couch, instead,” he says to Louis, already cursing Niall in his head for costing him the prettiest human he’s ever seen.

“I’ll help you get him home,” Louis says. “I lost my friends hours ago, anyway. Maybe we can have a drink and I’ll leave you my number?” he says hopefully.

“Works for me,” Harry says, grinning as he gets a grip on Niall’s arm and starts leading the way home.

As if he’s learned his lesson, Niall stays quiet pretty much the whole way home, talking and singing to himself and laughing at nothing. It gives Harry the perfect opportunity to get to know Louis, chatting and flirting with him the whole walk like Niall isn’t even there.

They get Niall tucked up on the sofa in the living room when they get back to Harry’s, and then Harry leads the way into the kitchen, flicking on the lights and surveying his liquor cabinet.

“Woah,” Louis says, looking around the kitchen. Harry suddenly becomes aware of his very witchy sense of interior design, the shelves and cupboards filled with herbs and potions and ingredients of every kind. 

“Oh,” Harry says, watching Louis’s face carefully. “Uh-”

“Are you a real witch, then?” Louis asks, but he’s playing, smirking at Harry. “The pointy hat isn’t just a costume?”

Harry laughs awkwardly, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet and bringing it to the table. Louis takes it upon himself to examine all the little bottles and jars on Harry’s shelves, looking amused.

“Do these things actually work?” Louis asks, picking up Harry’s jar of spiritual strength potion and looking closer. “Like, do you really use them?”

“If you believe in them, they work,” Harry says quietly. “Do you believe in witches?”

“Never really thought about it,” Louis says, putting the jar down. “Do you believe in them?”

“Yes,” Harry says, smiling to himself. “If I show you something, do you promise not to tell?”

He doesn’t know what it is about Louis, doesn’t know why he’s so drawn to him, why he feels like he can trust him, even though he’s known him for about half an hour. Maybe it’s the way Louis looks so fascinated when he turns around, quickly taking a seat in the chair Harry gestures to, and doesn’t laugh at all when Harry takes off his silly hat and pulls the baggie of magic out of his pocket.

He whistles quietly for Raisin, who comes immediately; Louis gasps as she soars into the room, but when Harry looks at him, he looks more intrigued than afraid. Harry whispers privately to Raisin and she sets off again, coming back only a moment later with a piece of quartz that she drops easily into Harry’s open hand.

“Is that a crow?” Louis asks, looking amazed when Raisin takes her place on Harry’s shoulder.

“She’s a raven,” Harry says, turning the quartz over in his hand. “Her name is Raisin.”

“A raven named Raisin?” Louis asks, giggling quietly.

“It suits her,” Harry shrugs, smiling as he puts the quartz down on the table. “What’s your favorite flower?”

Louis hums, shrugging one shoulder. “I like roses, I guess.”

Harry dips a finger into his packet of magic and then strokes it along the edge of the quartz, closing his eyes in concentration. Louis gasps loudly, and Harry smiles, opening his eyes to watch the quartz transform gracefully into a single rose, sprouting right out of the table.

“How did you do that?” Louis asks, reaching for the rose. Harry picks it up carefully and hands it over, watching Louis take a quick sniff of the rose petals.

“Magic,” Harry says, reaching out to take the rose back. He circles one finger around the edge of the petals and then blows on them gently, handing the rose back to Louis. “Now it’ll never die, even without water,” he says.

“No way,” Louis says, staring down at the rose. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Harry smiles, getting up to grab a couple of glasses. “Whiskey?”

“Think I’ve had enough to drink,” Louis mutters, putting the rose down carefully. “Do you have tea?”

“Of course,” Harry says, putting the glasses away and putting the kettle on, instead. “What kind?”

“What have you got?” Louis asks, glancing at the shelves again. “Do you have any magic ones?”

“Obviously,” Harry says, leaving the kettle to boil while he looks over his shelf of tea mixtures. “Willow moon magic tea, for healing and happiness,” he says, taking down a few jars. “Two parts willow bark, one half part dried apples, a tablespoon of vanilla, and a pinch of rosemary,” he says, as he mixes the ingredients together.

Louis watches on quietly, looking amazed as Harry works until he sets a mug down in front of him. “Milk and honey?” he asks, getting a glass jar of milk from the fridge and a jar of honey from the cabinet.

“Just milk,” Louis says, adding only a splash and then blowing on the tea, sipping at it eagerly. 

“Do you like it?” Harry asks. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” Louis says, looking up at Harry. “So you’re, like, actually a real witch?” he asks.

“Nothing’s impossible,” Harry says again, smirking at Louis over the top of his mug.

They spend the rest of the night talking, ignoring the sound of Niall’s snoring from the next room, and by the time Louis leaves that night with Harry’s phone number in his contacts, Harry thinks Louis’s got more magic in him than he knows. There’s something in the way Louis radiates happiness, the way he looks like pure sunshine, that leaves Harry feeling tingly and drugged in a way that no potion ever could. It isn’t until Louis’s already long gone that Harry finds his sheet crumpled on the floor in the kitchen, and Raisin has made herself a cozy little nest in the center of it. It feels like a sign, like a prophesy of some kind, and Harry supposes, with a warmth growing in his chest, that nothing is impossible, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked the fic, you can reblog it [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/179248099383/whats-inside-your-imagination-is-as-real-as)
> 
>  
> 
> [faq](http://suspendrs-fics.tumblr.com/faq)


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